The Devil, My Friend
by multiplicities
Summary: Dumbledore visits Grindelwald to convince him to help him deal with a greater threat. But after all that's happened, can they still consider themselves friends?


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. This was written for fun, not profit, unless counted in reviews.

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When he had first come upon this saying of the Muggles, it had seemed incomprehensible that he would ever apply it to their world. However, times had changed and Albus Dumbledore was no longer that foolish youth who had believed in enslaving Muggles for the greater good. He wasn't that foolish anymore.

_Better the devil you know_.

It might be the maddest idea he had ever had. But Albus could feel it, could sense it in the same way that animals knew winter was coming. He hadn't wanted to face it at first, but ever since that appointment, when he'd met a horribly changed Tom Riddle face to face… a new dark lord was coming. Perhaps this one would even be greater than the one before him.

"He's in there, Headmaster," a star-struck guard pointed him in the direction of the tower. There were enchantments upon it, naturally, that would not allow anyone to see it, including wizards, and besides the guards, most others were nudged gently away from approaching the place. In this, though, and in so many other ways, Albus Dumbledore was an exception. After all, he had been the one to give the tower its prisoner in the first place.

"How is he?" Albus smiled warmly towards the guard, who might have looked young and naïve but had to be an extremely accomplished Auror in order to be there at all.

"He's… sulking, I suppose you could say."

Albus raised both eyebrows.

The guard sighed. "He refuses to speak to anyone or do anything but sit and stare at the window. He doesn't even acknowledge me when I go in to bring him his meals, sir."

Albus wasn't surprised. It hadn't been so long since he'd defeated Gellert – Grindelwald, that is – and he knew what the man was like. However, he could admit that he was a little disappointed. It would be more difficult to convince him to help if he had retreated into himself too much. Of course, he was sure that Grindelwald would agree in the end. For in the end, what prisoner does not wish to be free?

After a few cursory checks to make sure Albus was who he said he was and the weary task of opening the tower, Dumbledore stepped in. The prison was just a single room, really, with a flight of stairs leading up to it. The appeal laid in the fact that it was very easy to keep people out or to keep someone in. At least it wasn't Azkaban. The only reason it wasn't was due to Albus' influence, but he had no regrets about tossing his considerable weight around if it meant Grindelwald did not have to bear the dementors.

He made his way slowly up the stairs, preferring to think of it as a concession to age rather than his fear of facing his former enemy. Strange, that it was Albus who was nervous about this meeting when Grindelwald was the one who was wandless, as good as helpless.

Well, no sense in dragging it out. Albus took a breath, conscious that the guard was watching him solicitously, and pushed open the door. He had only moments to look around at the clean but rough floor, the tattered bed on the floor, the plate with only half-eaten food, the window – an open window far too high for any human to reach with the sky shining as if taunting the ones inside by being unreachable – and the person contained inside before he was attacked.

"YOU!" Grindelwald snarled, emaciated fingers clawing for Albus as he lunged towards him. The guard let out a shocked gasp but immediately raised a shield between them and the prisoner. "How _dare_ you – _here_ – get out –"

"Stop," Albus said quietly but putting as much firmness into his voice as possible. It wasn't directed at Grindelwald, but at the guard, who looked as though she was about to stun Grindelwald.

"But, sir…"

"Can you give us a few moments alone?" Albus requested. He knew that this was in every way a glaring disregard of the rules, not to mention common sense, but – well. He truly needed to speak to his one-time friend. "I can take care of myself," he added hastily as the guard looked as though she was about to protest.

She bowed her head reluctantly, taking the shield down and exiting. There was a frozen moment when the two wizards left in the tower just watched each other. Albus took advantage of it to examine Gellert. His hair was strands of dirty gold and silver entwined, though much longer than he remembered. He smelled distinctly as if he hadn't washed it in a very long time. His frame looked entirely too thin and he had aged considerably since the last time Albus had seen him. Both of them had, really. Worst of all were his eyes. They were deeply sunken, with none of the spark that Albus had seen even when he'd defeated him for the last time. He wondered for a moment what Grindelwald thought when he looked at Albus.

Before he could offer concern or stare any longer, Grindelwald was on him, clawing, punching, and reaching for Albus' eyes. Albus didn't try to fend him off. The other wizard was far too weak to do him any harm, and this outburst of emotion allowed him time to recover his balance and go over his offer.

Grindelwald quickly grew tired and shoved his palms against Albus' shoulders to propel himself away. "I thought you were my _friend_. Ha! What a joke!"

Albus gazed evenly at his former friend from behind tented fingers. "I regret it," he said, and even as he said it, he realized that it was the truth.

Neither of them openly questioned what it was that he regretted. There were so many things that lay between them: Dumbledore's neglect, their grand plans, and, as always, Ariana's death. Even now, Dumbledore wanted to force Grindelwald to tell him if he had ever found the other two Deathly Hallows, wanted to know… so much. He wanted to discuss magical theories with Grindelwald, wanted to expound upon the uses for dragon blood that he had discovered so far, and he wanted, above all, to just sit and dream with his best friend of the brilliant future that they would create together.

His duty, however, laid in a far different direction.

"Why are you here?"

"I would like to make you an offer," Dumbledore stated quietly. "I need your help with a possibly volatile situation; in exchange, I can offer a parole of sorts."

Albus waited as Grindelwald turned away, feigning disinterest. When the other man was done examining the wall above his bed as though he had never seen it before, he turned back slowly, now faking boredom.

He couldn't quell the upwards twitch of his lips.

"What sort of problem?" Grindelwald's eyes narrowed.

"I have heard some nasty rumors concerning a former student of mine. He appears to be dabbling in Dark Magic – _very_ Dark Magic," Albus amended hastily as Grindelwald _looked_ at him, "and he has gathered several followers who participate in the torture of Muggles, according to my informants."

"His name?"

"He styles himself Lord Voldemort, though his original name is Tom Marvolo Riddle."

A snort. "How… quaint. But, Albus, why seek _my_ help? You have the Elder Wand and I am sure you are completely capable of subduing a former student turned upstart."

Albus flinched. He had considered going after Tom, and in the end, it wasn't fear of losing that had stopped him. Despite everything that Tom Riddle had done, he was still Albus' student, someone that he wanted to protect. And if he had become corrupted, then it was Albus who had brought him into the world of magic and wonders and killing with a single phrase – but he didn't want to kill Tom, despite everything. What troubled him the most was the sheer talent the boy possessed, and he had never wanted to destroy anyone with so much capacity for good.

"It might be too late now," he admitted out loud, "I met with him recently. Would you like to make your own observations?"

He brought out his Pensieve, which had been concealed within his cloak. Spells for making the inside of pockets larger than the outside were truly useful, though he hoped that it hadn't spilled. Grindelwald eyed him distrustfully but didn't make any movement as he reached into his pocket.

Together, they fell into the memories. There was very little of it: only the one of the orphanage when Dumbledore had informed Tom that he was a wizard and the latest one, when he had came to Hogwarts to request the Defense against the Dark Arts position.

When they came out, Grindelwald was shaking his head disbelievingly. "You had him as a student?"

"He was much better behaved then," Albus protested.

"He was a snake in snake's skin," Grindelwald snapped. "You should have gotten rid of him the moment he walked into Hogwarts. No – you should have disposed of him the day you met."

"Tom Riddle was only eleven years old at the time, Grindelwald. I thought that, with time, he could change."

"That new second chance policy of yours doesn't work, Albus." Dumbledore refrained from saying that his second chance policy was hardly new. He watched Grindelwald rake a hand through his tangled hair, marveling at the changes that a problem set before him could invoke. Grindelwald's eyes were alight, fiercely concentrating on the problem presented. "Those kinds of facial changes – paler – red eyes – less _human_ – either some failed Animagus transformation, or –"

"Or?" Albus prompted.

"In _Paths to Immortality_, it said that wizards can split their souls, but one of the side-effects is that they become less human. He's created a Horcrux, hasn't he?"

Dumbledore smiled grimly. It had taken him weeks to figure it out, and even then he hadn't been sure. In barely a few moments after Grindelwald had been given the same information Albus had – less, actually, counting the interaction Dumbledore had had with Tom as a student – he had managed to vindicate Albus' theory.

This was why he wanted Grindelwald on his side.

"I believe so. In fact, it seems probable that he made more than one. Now, will you help me?"

"You already knew, didn't you? Before you even came here."

"I had an idea."

"Just as always. You never change, Albus. Now, tell me why you didn't get rid of him immediately."

"I wanted to give him a chance to –"

"No, I want to know why you didn't destroy him in Hogwarts. Even if you didn't kill him, you could have imprisoned him. The way you did to me. Why not –?"

"I was attempting to –" Albus broke off as Grindelwald started laughing, a sickening sound.

"Or is it," he asked, gasping for breath, "that you wanted to give someone else a second chance?"

"What do you mean?"

"Me, of course! If your Tom really becomes my successor, then you could get permission to let me out of here! And I would help you catch your Dark Lord, back on the side of moral goodness, just as you've always wanted. A second chance for me – is that it?"

"You're wrong."

"…Perhaps. But whether your intentions are to free me from this prison or to use me like some tool you've dragged out of the attic, it doesn't matter. You manipulate people beautifully, Albus. Sometimes I wonder about the Dark Lord you would have made…"

"A poor one, I assure you."

"I doubt it."

"Are you planning to decline my offer, then?"

This gained Albus an amused look. "Of course not. But then you already knew that, didn't you?"

Albus closed his eyes, relieved. But Grindelwald wasn't done.

"Fine. I'll help you, _for the greater good_.But after we're done, don't expect me to forgive and forget, Albus."

"No," Albus agreed, standing aside so Grindelwald could make his slow, awkward way down the steps. There were still so many steps to arrange, and though he had discussed letting Grindelwald go – under heavy constraints, naturally – with the ones responsible for guarding him, not to mention the publicity, but for now…

"I've missed you, Gellert."


End file.
